


Anchor

by Kalgalen



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 01:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/pseuds/Kalgalen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No wonder they wanted to take off," he snarls after you tried to explain there was no way they would have left you without planning on coming back. "You're so fucking annoying."<br/>You clench your teeth. It hurts, but you're determined not to let it get to you. Surely it can't be your fault... right?<br/>Your throat feels too tight. You force yourself to take deeper breaths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired from a text post on bitlomo.tumblr.com.

You’re always doing your best to lighten up the mood. It’s not always easy, especially with your planet in the middle of a civil war and friends of yours dying on a daily basis for no visible progression. You have faith in Kimball; you have to. Otherwise, what would you have left?

When Felix brings the Reds and Blues - well, four of them, which is better than nothing, right? - hoping becomes a bit easier. You’re really excited to be part of the soldiers assigned to their squads, along with a bunch of other people you don’t really know yet. There’s Katie Jensen, blonde hair and shiny metallic smile; you never talked with the two other women who join her in Captain Simmons’ squad - the only thing you know is that one of them is nicknamed “Volleyball”. Smith reminds you of your oldest brother with his loud, deep voice and his protectiveness; you ignore everything about the two others soldiers designated to side with Captain Caboose. You get chosen for Captain Tucker’s group, along with Jason Cunningham, whom you met the first day you enlisted in the New Republic’s army, and another guy named Rogers. The Gold squad - or, as Captain Grif insists to call it, the Orange squad - consists of a small chatty guy named Matthews, a quiet girl you once saw lift a car several centimeters from the ground with her bare hands, and of course, Bitters. You’re not even sure if it’s his real name or one he received because of his lackadaisical attitude and general indifference.

You’d give away several meals to get him to smile at least once.

 

Your Captain is not exactly what you expected him to be. You heard stories about how they helped the UNSC bring down a military project gone wrong, killing two of their elite commando in the process and surviving without any loss. You expected a veteran, a charismatic leader, someone who'd know what to do and how to lead you to victory. Instead you discover that Tucker is pretty young, has no precise idea of how he's supposed to make real fighters out of you, and is incredibly pissed at the Federal Army for taking his friends away. As always, and because you don't know better, you try to cheer him up. Your jokes are only met by scolding and infuriated sighs.

Still, you're pretty sure he likes you.

 

You're... not sure he likes you. Any of you.

He let Rogers and Cunningham die during your first mission on the field. Well, Felix is the one who didn't want to take the risk and wait for them, but Tucker is the one who insisted on staying longer than necessary to get some information about the location of his friends - or maybe a friend in particular, seeing how often the name _Wash_ comes out of his mouth. Tucker refuses to talk about him with you, unless it's so say that Wash would know what to do, and that they need him. What you hear is, _"I need him."_

You don't like Wash - whoever he is.

 

You like him even less when the Captains decide to leave you behind and use the data Rogers and Cunningham paid for with their life to go after their lost friends. You still choose to believe they'd never abandon you like that; Jensen and Smith agree, while Bitters says they never cared about you in the first place.

"No wonder they wanted to take off," he snarls after you tried to explain there was no way they would have left you without planning on coming back. "You're so fucking annoying."

You clench your teeth. It hurts, but you're determined not to let it get to you. Surely it can't be your fault... right?

Your throat feels too tight. You force yourself to take deeper breaths.

 

Felix comes back with the news of the Captains' death, and it feels like the room is collapsing around you.

"I got there too late. I'm sorry, I should have known... At least Locus killed them quickly. Probably that guy's only good trait."

The mercenary's voice sounds scrambled, as if coming from behind several layers of thick quilt. Your vision goes a bit fuzzy at the edge; you feel too hot, too cold, You're going to throw up. You're going to burn.

The room feels too small.

You stumble out with a few words of apology - you doubt anyone is paying attention to you anyway. Outside, some people try to stop you, to ask you about what’s happening. You ignore them. At one point, Matthews tries to grab your arm; you tear yourself away from him, and thankfully, he doesn't insist.

As soon as you find a clear storage room, you rip your helmet off; it hits the ground with a deafening clang . You take in as much air as you can, and it still feels like you're drowning. You try breathing deeper, faster. You're choking. Skin too tight, world too big, too loud, too bright.

You're not sure how you end up huddled up in a corner between an empty crate of ammo and the wall, knees close to your chest and hands over your ears. They should have stayed, they could have stayed - if only you had done better, if you had made more efforts, if you had been less annoying - and Bitters' words come back to you like ghost sinking their nails into your mind, _"You're so fucking annoying,"_ and it's a new punch to the guts that gets a low, inarticulate scream out of you.

Brain scrambling for some composure, for just a moment of peace. You can't think. Guilt is overriding everything.

You freeze when you hear the sound of boots on the scratched grey floor - you didn't even notice you were rocking back and forth, as if it could help you calm down. You wish you had your gloves off, so you could bite in the back of your hand and muffle the small cries you can feel escaping from your throat. Instead you clasp your hands over your mouth, and stop breathing altogether in hope that whoever entered the room is going to leave quickly.

The steps come closer to you. When they stop, right in front of you, you raise your head toward Bitters' inexpressive helmet - not that he'd look less uncaring if his face was uncovered. You hide behind your hands. You're shivering.

"Please, just go away."

Your voice is hoarse, and you feel like you yelled for several hours. Bitters doesn't move, he wants to say something - and you can't take it now, not when it seems like you're agonizing.

"You okay?"

Bitters kneels in front of you. That's unexpected. He tries to put a hand on your shoulder, but immediately stops when you jerk back.

"You wanna talk?"

His tone is surprisingly soft. You shake your head nervously. No. You just want some silence, and reality to stop hurting. He seems to understand, because he just stays here, sitting quietly.

His presence somehow grounds you. Air starts reaching your lungs again, and your breathing gets more even with each inhalation.

When you tentatively lower your hands, Bitters is looking right at you. One brown eye, one almost golden. You didn't notice he took his helmet off. He tilts his head as he asks:

"You feeling better?"

And he sounds genuinely concerned. It almost makes you want to cry. He suddenly looks alarmed:

"Oh shit. Did I say something wrong?"

Uh. Looks like you are crying. You sniffles and wipe the tears off you cheeks.

"...No. S'okay. Just... tired."

He then... smiles? It's a smile, you guess, a bit crooked and clumsy, but a smile all the same.

"Can I touch you?" he asks hesitantly, raising a hand.

You blink, cofused. Nod. He ruffles your hair and looks at you, catching your eyes.

"Hey. It's going to be fine, ok? As long as we all stick together. We did well even before they got here-"

You know it's a lie, but you don't comment. Hearing Bitters talk to you so gently feels special. You wonder how many people in the New Republic ever heard him talk this way. Not much, you can bet. You feel… privileged.

"We're going to continue to fight. And we need you," he finishes.

You smile feebly.

"Even if I'm annoying?"

Bitters looks a bit ashamed and avoids your stare.

"You're not annoying. I'm an asshole. Thought you'd have figured this out by now."

You chuckle. He looks at you and smiles again.

"We should go back, if you're ready."

He gets back on his feet, picks up his helmet and holds out his hand for you to grab.

You take it.


End file.
